


You're My Oasis

by hephaestiions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Underage Sex, they're sixteen and they're both teenagers fooling around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hephaestiions/pseuds/hephaestiions
Summary: Sometimes love is difficult. Sometimes it's the easiest thing in the world.Alternatively: Theo's struggling. Blaise wishes he could stop it.
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	You're My Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first non-drarry/non-wolfstar from the hp fandom, so be gentle with me, i haven't received feedback on my writing of these boys before. 
> 
> recently joined the hogwartsonline discord server recently and this was motivated by the prompts i was given there and the prompt: love-conquers-all. i *loved* this prompt so much.

“I can see the Thestrals now,” Theo says, the words falling from his whiskey laden lips like thick sludge, weighing down the air between them.  
  
Blaise doesn’t tell him he knows.  
  
Blaise doesn’t tell him he’s known since Theo came to sit with them in the Express with death in his eyes and an imperceptible tremble in his fingers that only manifests in the spikiness of his otherwise immaculate handwriting.  
  
Doesn’t say that when it comes to Theo–  
  
He’ll always _know_.  
  
If he opens his mouth, the words will spill, swirling into the murkiness of the lines between them that lie like boundaries of countries at war, so he doesn’t say anything at all– just raises the glass to his lips and stares into the fire, trying not to clench the fabric of his trousers in his hands.  
  
“Can you see them?” Theo asks. A smouldering log shudders in the flames, emitting an ominous crackle. “Or have you never–”  
  
“I can see them,” Blaise interjects before Theo can finish. Before he can send Blaise spiralling into the nightmare that was– well. “I’ve been able to since First Year.”  
  
Of course, Theo knows better than to ask. “Those fucking– those fucking winged _demons–_ ” he begins instead, cutting himself off with a shudder and a wince. “I thought, I thought I was _off_ my fucking _rocker_ , but then Draco was screaming like a bloody _girl_ and I realised–”  
  
“Careful what you say about girls, mate,” Blaise says, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Pansy and Daphne can see them since Third Year, and none of them batted an eyelash when they found out what pulls us into the castle.”  
  
“Could have _warned_ me,” Theo says, clanging the bottle down on the floor. His control’s slipping– running awry the way it has been since he came back. It worsens with a drink.

A drop of moisture rolls down the side of the bottle, soaking the remnants of the torn label, and seeps into the crevices of the stone floors.  
  
“Would’ve,” Blaise shrugs, “if you’d told me you’d be coming back with _that._ ” He nods at Theo’s left forearm, buttoned-up beneath the starched sleeves of his black shirt.  
  
There’s a distant rumbling in the water of the Lake. Something swishes by the walls of the common room and the stones shake.  
  
Theo’s expression darkens.  
  
“Problem, Zabini?” he asks, knuckles white against the bottleneck, as he raises it to his lips for another swig. “You want to find out _why_ I got it, you–”  
  
_“Theo.”_  
  
Something clears in Theo’s eyes. Shrouds the irises in pain that Blaise is all too familiar with. It pulls on heartstrings he pretends to not have around everyone except Theo.  
  
For Theo, they would compose _symphonies._  
  
Theo’s lower lip trembles. His tongue darts out to wet it, and he clenches it between his teeth.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispers, bringing the heels of his palm up to press into his eye sockets. “ _Fuck_.”  
  
He looks up, and his gaze is so wide and frightened that Blaise is reminded of the Thestral foals wandering away from their herd to the edge of the forest, whinnying and panicking as they look around at the unfamiliarity of the Hogwarts grounds. He’ll never admit it, but he’s caressed more than one of those shuddering, fragile wings and led them back gently to the clearings they are better acquainted with.  
  
If only humans were so easy.  
  
If only _Theodore fucking Nott_ was so easy.  
  
“Blaise,” Theo whispers, and his voice cracks on the name. “Blaise, what the fuck am I– where am I– _Blaise._ ”  
  
He’s on his feet before he knows it, striding across the scant space between them to perch on the arm of Theo’s chair, one arm coming up to rest on the heaving shoulders, the other twining in the tousled mess of dark hair. There’s nothing to be said, Blaise knows Theo isn’t looking for verbal comfort– the vagueness of _it’ll be alright_ , or _you’ll be okay_.  
  
There are no promises worth making when your mother is dead and your father is the one who killed her. No promises worth making when the stain of your fate is etched into your skin– an ugly, pulsing, darkened bit of skin that had once been flawless.  
  
Blaise remembers kissing the inside of Theo’s wrist then, marvelling at the intricacies of the spiralling web of blue-green veins and purple arteries. Pressing down tightly and drinking in Theo’s gasp of surprise and the widening of his dark eyes.  
  
Letting go, knowing Theo would be looking at the bruises every time he wrote an assignment or did homework, or fucking _wanked._  
  
Now, the curve of the serpent’s head rests where Blaise’s lips once had, and during his worst nightmares, Theo’s unblemished, unMarked skin changes before his eyes as he bends down, the tapestry of ink unravelling with every press of skin and every press of Blaise’s touch to Theo’s pulse point.  
  
In his worst nightmares, Theo is screaming.  
  
Once, to satisfy his perverse curiosity, he’d almost asked Draco if Theo had screamed, but thought better of it looking into Draco’s bloodshot grey eyes. Whatever happened that summer is better left untold.  
  
Theo’s piano perfect fingers twist into the sleeve of Blaise’s sweater. It’s cashmere, and the tugging is pulling on the fine threads, but Blaise can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he tightens his grip on Theo’s hair and ignores the warm wetness spreading across his forearm where Theo has buried his watering eyes.  
  
“I tried,” Theo says, words muffled by the fabric in his mouth. “I tried _so hard_ to change his mind, I really tried.”  
  
“I know,” Blaise says, because what else could _possibly_ be adequate?  
  
“He was insane!” Theo says, surging away from Blaise’s arm to turn to look at him. The pale line of his neck glows in the light of the fire. “All she did was ask him to think of us before swearing the family’s allegiance to a megalomaniac madman again. That’s all, Blaise, I swear and he–”  
  
There are ghosts surrounding them. Theo’s ghosts– the night terrors that don’t let him sleep. Unseen in the shadows. They bear Theo’s mother’s face, and his father’s wand, and Blaise–  
  
Blaise doesn’t know how to get rid of them.  
  
“I need to forget,” Theo gasps through his tears. “Blaise, I just… I need you to make me forget, _please._ ”  
  
Those damn eyes. Eyes that haunt his waking moments with doubts and promises twined into one. Those dark eyes secreting away darker thoughts turned towards him beseechingly. Blaise knows exactly what Theo’s asking.  
  
Knows there’s no point resisting.

Knows he’ll give in.  
  
They look at each other, and he isn’t sure how long they sit there, just looking. Could have been minutes. Could have been seconds. Could have been hours for all that time matters to him then. 

“Alright,” Blaise says, sliding off the armrest. He holds out a hand, letting his breath catch in the split second that Theo tangles their fingers together. “Let’s go to the dorms, then.”  
  
_Anything for you_ , he adds in the safety of his thoughts, where the words won’t rip through the carefully threaded fabric of reality, where words as careless as those won’t shred the one true, good thing he has left.  
  
They fall into bed, Theo’s searching hands sliding underneath his sweater, rucking it up, tugging it off, hands cold against his warm skin. Blaise casts Silencing charms on his bed and locking charms on the curtains, his wand hand shaking as Theo’s thumbs trace his hipbones, slipping underneath the waistband of his pants.  
  
Theo unzips his trousers, and the wand clatters away, forgotten as Blaise almost cries at the feeling of Theo’s fingers caressing him through the material of his underwear, his breaths warm and ragged against his Adam’s apple.  
  
“Always want you,” Theo whispers into the skin of his collarbones. _“Always.”_  
  
“Fuck, Theo, please–”  
  
“Nothing compares to this,” Theo says, cutting over his desperate pleas and Blaise should be worried, should be focusing on the odd breathlessness of Theo’s choked words, but how _can_ he–  
  
Theo’s hands are gorgeous, his fingers even better as they finally, _finally_ slide down his pants and come to loosely grip his cock.  
  
_Nothing compares to you_ , Blaise thinks, desperate and arching.  
  
He realises he’s spoken aloud when Theo chokes out a laugh as his tongue flicks out to trace the hollow of Blaise’s throat.  
  
“Missed you,” Theo murmurs, words warm and gentle as he slides his lips down Blaise’s torso, kissing his nipples until they pebble. “Missed you so much in the summer, Blaise, you wouldn’t believe–”  
  
Theo has a truly filthy mouth in bed, but Blaise feels closer to the edge when he’s being sweet, when his words are absolving Blaise of all his guilt and misery over not being able to protect Theo when he needed it.  
  
There are things they don’t say– _won’t_ say– but in these moments, the heartache lessens to a dull throb of want in every crevice of Blaise’s body.  
  
“Too dressed for this,” he informs Theo, hands reaching up to unbutton the shirt he’s wearing. It’s a skill he’s had to perfect– unbuttoning Theo’s shirts in the dark– over their years in Hogwarts. He wonders if he should take as much pride in it as he does.  
  
Theo’s hands reach down, unclasping the hooks of his trousers (the poncy _prat_ ), tugging them down over his bony hips, letting them get lost in the tangle of bed sheets and clothes in the dark.  
  
Blaise pushes the shirt off his shoulders, drinking in the sight of his lithe, pale body glowing in the little light that remains in the space they’ve made their own. It’s slight, almost negligible, but he feels Theo tense against him, limbs going rigid and wandering hands stilling.  
  
“Theo,” he says, pushing away. 

“It’s nothing,” Theo says, exploring the contours of Blaise’s thighs again. His fingers are trembling.  
  
“It’s definitely not nothing,” Blaise says, gripping Theo’s hands in his own. He could probably crush the delicately bones fingers if he pressed too hard, he realises through the fog of lust and worry in his brain.  
  
More proof that Blaise needs to be careful with him. More proof that Theo’s more fragile than he lets on.  
  
Theo exhales. Looks away.  
  
“The Mark,” he mutters. “I don’t want it… I don’t want it touching you.”

“Theo, look at me.”

Theo won’t budge. He’s frustratingly stubborn. Sometimes Blaise wonders why the bloke didn’t sort Gryffindor with all that headstrong stubbornness and misplaced courage. His fingers flutter briefly against Blaise’s hands before stilling.  
  
_“Theo.”_  
  
Even in the dark Blaise can make out the haze of uncertainty shrouding those eyes when Theo turns. Reaching up, Blaise places a hand on his chin, turning it towards him fully. Making sure to keep their eyes on each other, he lifts Theo’s left hand, kissing the tip of each finger carefully.  
  
_Gentle_. Soft.  
  
He grips Theo’s wrist, and lets Theo’s palm fall open, fingers slack and loose, and kisses the lines running across the white expanse of skin. He keeps moving, placing tiny, chaste kisses on the skin of Theo’s hand. 

When he reaches the wrist, Theo flinches violently.  
  
“Shh,” Blaise hushes, reaching up to run his fingers through Theo’s hair. “I’m choosing this, see?”  
  
Theo watches, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as Blaise kisses the line of the snake’s writhing body, the open mouth of the skull, the bulbous head. His hand is trembling, but he isn’t drawing away. It’s progress.  
  
Blaise pulls away eventually.

He pulls the parts of him Slytherin demands he keep hidden– the depths of emotion that they keep locked away to protect themselves.  
  
But for Theo, he doesn’t care if he has to make himself vulnerable. He’d walk into a minefield and dance if it meant keeping Theo feeling safe.  
  
“It isn’t… something you’re inflicting upon me,” Blaise tells him, searching for the right words to convey the twisted mess of emotions pulsing within him. “I’m choosing it. I want you, all of you, even the bits that you didn’t choose for yourself.”  
They stare at each other for the second time this night, long and hard, and more discerning than either of them are entirely comfortable with.  
  
When Theo kisses him, it’s _brutal_. Harsh. Their mouths open under each other’s, their teeth push into tongues and lips, drawing blood when they cut down. Theo’s pushing into him, pushing him back, pressing him down and Blaise understands, that visceral, raw need to just be _close_ –   
  
Their hands tangle in the sheets, and Theo is gasping and arching as he moves his body down, pressing his cock against Blaise’s and oh! that glorious, _glorious_ friction–  
  
Blaise cants his hips up, and if he ends up in hell, it’ll be because he’s already had his taste of heaven here, on earth, with Theo in his arms, and against his body and the _pressure, fuck–  
  
W_hen Theo pulls away, mouth flushed and red and whispers _I’ve always needed you, I wish you were with me, I know I would have been okay_ , Blaise raises their joined hands to his lips and kisses Theo’s knuckles, even as his balls tighten painfully, and his cock fills and aches with the need to come.  
  
When Theo leans closer, and closer still, and proceeds to press his teeth gently into Blaise’s earlobe and says, _I’m so close, Blaise, I’m so close_ , he can’t hold it off anymore, arching wildly into Theo’s body and coming against his pants.  
  
He realises Theo hasn’t finished when he feels the hard press of Theo’s cock against his hip and he tries to detangle their fingers to reach down, but Theo shakes his head vigorously and wildly. “No, stay this way,” he says. “The fucking faces you make when you come, Blaise, I swear–”  
  
Theo’s eyes fall shut, and he ruts his hard cock into Blaise’s thigh and _oh fuck–_  
  
Blaise tugs on his hands, bringing him closer and kisses him again, and again, and _again_ until Theo is moaning into his mouth and coming in his pants.  
  
In the aftermath, they lie side by side on the bed, looking up at the emerald green hangings, trying to catch their breath.  
  
“You didn’t make me forget,” Theo says after a while, and Blaise winces. The one reason Theo wanted this, and he couldn’t even fulfil that.  
  
“Sorry–”  
  
“No,” Theo interjects, turning to look at him with bright eyes. “No, you made me think it was all okay. Just for a moment, but I could live with myself. Just because you look at me the way you do.”  
  
Blaise’s heart skips a beat, and he holds his breath while his brain goes into overdrive, panicking and throwing worst-case scenarios at him because _fuck,_ Theo knows, Theo _knows_.  
  
“I can hear you thinking,” Theo says. He doesn’t sound upset. “ _Over_ thinking.”  
  
“I’m sorry if I–”  
  
And this time Theo is covering Blaise’s mouth with his hand, and leaning on his elbow to look down at him with an expression so serious that Blaise feels a little more terrified than he already did, which is saying something.

“No, Blaise, Merlin, I don’t– what I need from you, for fuck’s sake, it’s– it’s _not_ an apology.” His expression begins to transform to hesitant, and Blaise wants to kiss the furrow between those thin brows away. “It’s a request I have and I…”  
  
“A _request?_ ”  
  
“Yes, I…” He meets Blaise’s eyes, and for the first time, Blaise is faced with the absurd reality that whatever is between them is as fragile and terrifying and precious to Theo as it is to him. “Can I stay?”  
  
“Stay?”  
  
“Stay. Here. Stay in the bed, stay till tomorrow morning… just stay,” Theo says, before adding with a tiny bite of his lip, “With _you_.”  
  
And this time, the words don’t stop in his throat, or the roof of his mouth or the back of his teeth. This time they’re spoken, clearly, into the darkness between them.  
  
“Anything for you. For fuck’s sake, Theo, _anything._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> come and talk to me on https://yesperfahey.tumblr.com oof 
> 
> comments/feedback/kudos always appreciated!!


End file.
